Miss Mae’s Pregnancy and Birth (Part I)
July 30, 2019
Dear Daughter,
In the wee hours of the morning, you are sitting cross-legged by the refrigerator, gingerly moving around some magnets. As I move about the kitchen to an old morning worship playlist, I hear you begin singing perfectly along to this song I didn’t know you had ever paid attention to… “You are beautiful in all your ways… may we never lose our wonder…”
I abruptly stopped what I was doing to just watch you, and memories fill my heart of those ten weeks that formed us.
HOSPITAL MORNINGS
Routinely, after watching the sun rise over the trees outside my hospital room window, I would carefully stand and start this morning worship playlist, turn to tidy and top my hospital bed with a colorful patchwork quilt, then head to the handmade “count-up” calendar taped to the wall. Plus one more day. We made it one more day and night with you growing in my womb. Defying all the specialists’ predictions. Marker uncapped, recording the gift of it, of you, for one more day.
May we never lose our wonder!
When I would wake, your Daddy would have already left to drive to work. Besides the first few nights of being hospitalized, they allowed him to stay with us, and he did, every night for almost 3 months in that little room. He’d pull his suit and tie out of the room’s tiny closet, commute south for the day, and come back every evening to have dinner with us. Then he’d do it all over again the next day.
A FEW STEPS BACK- THE UNPLEASANT SURPRISE
Back when you were 20 weeks in the womb, we went to have the routine hour-long ultrasound where the sonographer would check out your every little finger and toe. Because you were so active, they weren’t able to see an important part of your nose, so we were invited to come again in a few weeks to give it another try. I said that it didn’t matter much to me, but your Daddy suggested we go ahead and do it, so we returned four weeks later. After what seemed like a normal ultrasound appointment, the technician informed us that we would need to talk to our midwife immediately, and we could wait in the waiting room until they reached her by phone.
I was handed a phone and the concerned voice of my midwife asked, “how are you feeling?” Me: “I feel fine, thanks! What is going on?”
Midwife: “Serra Ann, your scan shows that your cervix is funneling and dilated 3-4cm. That is a lot, and baby is only 24 weeks. This is not good.” She was quiet.
My stomach sunk and she asked a few more questions like, “you aren’t feeling any contractions?” (me: “no”) and eventually said she is going to have to transfer us to the OB at the hospital. She directed us not to go too far and to wait for a phone call.
We had an old Applebees gift card with us, so your Daddy and I thought we could go wait there and try to eat something. Our stomachs were nervous and we ordered some mediocre meal until we got the phone call to go to INOVA Fairfax hospital, where I’d be assessed and discuss things with the doctor. After much monitoring, even though I was not experiencing any signs of labor, the maternal fetal medicine specialists told us we could expect preterm labor any day (hour?) now, and would need to remain hospitalized on bedrest to give you immediate access to the NICU when you would arrive.
This would give you the best fighting chance at life.
OUR RESPONSE
Daddy and I were pretty shocked and honestly a bit scared. Especially in the beginning when we became more educated about viability and survival rates at your gestational age. With the exception of a few nurses, everyone seemed to look at our situation pretty dismally. I was asked to remain lying in bed (even at a decline) unless I needed to use the restroom or wanted to take a shower once a day. I wouldn’t be allowed to be wheelchaired outside until 5 weeks later, when the doctors felt more comfortable taking that risk.
From day one there with you, it was hard to choose hope! The same day I was hospitalized, one of my dear friends gave birth to a beautiful baby girl who 4 days later tragically died. It was utterly heartbreaking, and it was so real to us, the possibility of losing you.
I received bouquets of flowers and encouraging cards from thoughtful family and friends. I’ll never forget, however, when early on your Daddy went on a quick “errand” and brought back a large, full-on, potted flowering plant for my window. He was actively leading us in faith that we were going to be there for a while, helping us to hope in your full-term healthy birth. I would fix my teary eyes on those beautiful pink azaleas, thanking God for you and trying to trust His plan.
A NEW “NORMAL”
After a week or so of spending bedrest making work phone calls to transfer my counseling clients, I drafted a routine for how I’d spend my days. I started every day making my bed, showering and getting dressed in normal clothes to my worship playlist. It helped me stay out of an “I’m sick” mindset and in a “I’m waiting and trusting and hoping” frame of mind. A hospital volunteer helped me learn how to hand-sew you a quilt, I fixed Aunt Catie’s baby doll Suzie, I watched videos on breastfeeding, revised your birth plan regularly, read books, watched “Fixer Upper” and finished our baby registry.
A sweet old nun would visit me and pray for me on her rounds and the chaplain of my graduate school even visited several times to celebrate Mass with us. We used my hospital tray on wheels as a humble altar and got in trouble for lighting real candles! The tears would well up during communion when I knew the Body of Jesus was literally entering my body and being shared with yours in my womb! May we never lose our wonder!
I received so many friends and family visitors to encourage me and cheer us on. Once we had a pizza party with Grannie and Papa, Aunt Ele, Aunt Catie and Uncle Graeme. Granddad was able to come often (and always brought delicious food) as his work allowed him to take calls nearby the hospital. Aunt Catie and all my dearest girlfriends threw a lovely baby shower for us in the family room on our hospital floor. So much love for you, even before you were born, dear daughter.
MORE MEMORIES, AND THE HARD MOMENTS
I used to request that the therapy dog visitors come back when Daddy was off work so that he could enjoy a petting session with them. We played many rounds of the card game “Phase 10” and tried once to play Monopoly (ask Daddy someday how well that went over, ha!). During the later weeks of our stay, I looked forward to the hour Daddy would come home and wheel me outside. One day we went on a wheelchair adventure in search of all the vending machines until we found one that had peanut M&Ms.
Every day and night the nurses would strap monitors on my growing belly to record your heartbeat and any contractions. Every every(!) time, you would elbow or kick or punch the exact spot they placed it, making a loud POUUF on the speaker. I would giggle or smile knowingly that you were my Spunky Suzie making your presence and preferences clear to all.
Although when I look back I can identify all the goodness and blessing upon our little family during those long weeks, they were filled with ongoing suffering. Bedrest took a major toll on my body and as the days and weeks went by, I became physically very weak. It was hard to lay all day and night in the air mattress hospital bed designed for preventing bed sores. Every small movement would trigger the bed to inflate or deflate in various places. I wasn’t able to go outside and breathe fresh air for five weeks. I often felt claustrophobic and frustrated and exhausted and trapped. One low moment, in the middle of the night, I was so uncomfortable and depressed that I started sobbing and wailing “I can’t do this anymoreeee!!!” and it brought the concerned nurses running thinking I had gone into labor.
But we grew together, baby girl! You and I and Daddy. In patience, in perseverance, in hope and in wonder, until we reached 34 weeks and convinced the doctors to discharge us to go home.
To Be Continued… your birth story up next!
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